


The Early Years:  With Anor's Rise

by Minuial_Nuwing



Series: The Early Years [4]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-13
Updated: 2006-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuial_Nuwing/pseuds/Minuial_Nuwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas comes of age, and Haldir comes to the party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple emphasis.

***********************************************

_...Legolas went still, the playfully menacing whisper and sudden stab of pain-become-pleasure carrying him back in time. His overwhelmed senses reeled, and he was cradled in sweet-smelling grasses on a hot summer day. The silken hair that shrouded his face was not midnight dark, but gold-sparked silver, and he was young and afraid..._

\-- Princes Three: Any Shelter, Chapter 8

***********************************************

 

_~Mirkwood 1550 III~_

Legolas watched the approach of the Lórien party with poorly disguised anxiety. His father had spoken frankly of the upcoming rites. So frankly that, truth be told, his cheeks colored at the memory of it. But there had been no hint as to which elf had been chosen to introduce the second prince of the woodland realm to passion’s mysteries. _ ‘Please, please...not Celeborn,’_ Legolas begged silently, his heart leaping into his throat as the Lórien elves drew closer.

Legolas' elder brother, Anteruon, had spent his majority revels with one of the king’s senior advisors, a fact which caused such gossip and infighting in the council chamber that Thranduil had sworn he would not make the mistake twice. Thus Legolas’ current distress...one of the guests he greeted today would rid him of his bodily innocence tomorrow.

Thranduil watched his son’s face with well-concealed amusement. Though the youngling no doubt thought his features schooled into a mask of welcome, his eyes gave him away. The blue-green gaze had sparkled with excitement as the contingent from Imladris arrived, only to dampen when it became apparent that the Peredhil twins were not among the party, then widen in alarm as Lord Elrond himself stepped forward.

Thranduil had thought to remain noncommittal, but the look of near terror that flickered across Legolas’ face caused him to shake his head slightly in reassurance. Not Elrond. The sigh of relief had been audible, and the Peredhel’s twinkling eyes were proof that he, too, was forcing back a smile.

As Celeborn and the others dismounted, Thranduil experienced a moment of unease. His choice of bed-teacher for his second-born son had been made on the strength of a memory, and was unusual by all accounts. The elf in question was neither ancient nor well acquainted with Legolas...

“It was a good choice, love,” Miluien murmured, squeezing her husband’s arm comfortingly. “I still remember the adoration in his eyes, those many years ago.”

“Aye,” Thranduil whispered, “but adoration and passion are often poor bedfellows, especially for the young. I hope I have not erred.”

Legolas stood tensely, fighting a growing sense of horror, as Celeborn greeted his parents and elder brother. Celeborn was a legend, one of the lords of Lórien, and as powerful in his own way as his Lady. The thought of shedding his leggings under that cool silver gaze made Legolas feel queasy, and a nervous laugh bubbled in his chest. Swallowing the threatening hysteria with difficulty, he bowed his head in welcome. “Mae govannen, my lord,” Legolas said politely, raising his eyes reluctantly to Celeborn’s face as he forced out the expected greeting. “You honor me with your presence.”

“The honor is mine, Thranduilion,” Celeborn replied gravely, though the raging emotion visible beneath Legolas' thin veneer of correctness both amused and moved him. The young elf was near panic, the cause of his anxiety easily discerned. Stepping aside slightly, Celeborn drew his companion forward. “Prince Legolas,” he began, “I believe you once met...”

Celeborn’s words faded away into meaningless noise as Legolas caught sight of the other elf. The hair was longer, the mithril-like gleam of mingled silver and gold even more brilliant. There were no kohl stripes to accent the high cheekbones and, instead of black leather, the visitor wore the grey traveling garb of his people. But the eyes...the eyes were unchanged. Swirls of green, brown and gold drew Legolas in, just as they had centuries before, and he was once again drowning in the warm gaze...

_“Haldir.”_ The whispered name left his lips without thought. Legolas came back to himself with a start as he was caught in a ritual embrace. _‘A warrior’s embrace,’_ he realized dazedly, struggling to return the greeting in kind as his mind whirled frantically, a small flicker of hope flaring in his chest.

“Mae govannen,” Haldir said as he stepped back to look at the prince, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You have grown well, young one. ‘Tis an honor to be here for your coming of age.”

His heart pounding as the ambiguous compliment played over and over in his head, Legolas met Haldir’s gaze, flushing under the gleam in the unusual hazel eyes. A gleam at once friendly and blatantly appraising.

Legolas knew without a doubt that he had his answer. _Haldir._

****************************

“He is a mass of nerves,” Thranduil lamented, the formal evening robes he had yet to remove swishing and swirling as he paced the study restlessly. “And I do not know how to ease his mind.”

“You might begin by easing your own, my lord,” Haldir replied quietly, his eyes focused on the deep red wine that filled the goblet in his hand. “Would you care to share your worries? You are making _me_ nervous.”

The king stopped abruptly, seating himself across from Haldir. “Forgive me, my friend,” he said. “I do not question your role. He is just....”

“...your son,” Haldir finished, meeting the worried emerald gaze with a hint of a smile. “And you feel as though you should be locking him away from my lecherous advances.”

Thranduil chuckled, but did not deny the assertion. “He is young.”

“Perhaps,” Haldir answered carefully, “but not so young as many at their first bedding. Not in Lórien, and certainly not in Mirkwood. I sometimes think it is the better way, with experience coming as it may, rather than planned and steeped in ritual and anxiety.”

“Aye,” Thranduil admitted with a sigh, “you are correct, of course. Only the nobles maintain the tradition of celibacy until lawful majority, in any realm. Our rites here are often naught but opportunity for the left piercing, truth be known.”

Haldir nodded his understanding of the ancient Silvan tradition of nipple piercing – right for first kill in battle, left for first bedding – that Thranduil had taken as his own. “I have some experience with the rings,” Haldir offered, hoping to soothe the king’s anxiety.

“And with innocents, I presume?” Thranduil asked frankly, searching the marchwarden’s face.

“Aye, and with innocents,” Haldir agreed, unable to hide a smile. “I can claim no previous royal majorities, my lord, but I am quite well-schooled in the art of bedding untried partners.” Becoming serious, Haldir laid a hand on the king’s arm. “All will be well, my friend. Legolas was a delightful elfling, and he has grown into a fine young warrior. There is naught to fear.”

“You reassure me," Thranduil replied, grasping his companion’s arm in return. “I chose well.”

Haldir dipped his head in acknowledgement, then met the king’s eyes thoughtfully. “If it pleases you, I will spend some portion of the day with him tomorrow, renewing our acquaintance. A picnic in the old tower clearing, perhaps?”

“That is an excellent idea,” Thranduil said, nodding distractedly. “Just the thing. I will have the cooks prepare a basket.”

As the marchwarden drained his glass and rose to leave, Thranduil stopped him with a word. “Haldir?”

“Aye?”

“I would have you aware of another of our quaint Mirkwood traditions.”

Haldir found himself pinned by an intense emerald gaze. “My lord?”

“Legolas comes of age with anor’s rise tomorrow.”

“Indeed? With anor’s rise?”

Thranduil nodded, the ghost of a smile touching his face. “Aye. Should the fact become pertinent.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Peredhel, Peredhil – half-elf, half-elven  
Mae govannen – Well met  
Thranduilion – son of Thranduil  
anor – the sun

 


	2. Chapter 2

Haldir waited more or less patiently, a well-provisioned basket sitting on the fountain wall at his side. The falling water sparkled in the midmorning sun, and Haldir amused himself by watching the hurried comings and goings of seamstress, cook and maid alike. The whole of the woodland realm was busy preparing for the elaborate celebration that would begin at twilight.

The previous day’s festivities had provided little chance to speak intimately with Legolas, but offered ample opportunity to unobtrusively observe the second-born prince. An impromptu weapons match between the visitors from Lórien and Imladris and the Mirkwood guard proved him to be highly skilled with the bow and promising with the traditional Silvan knives, as well as graceful in both victory and defeat. And though Legolas was perhaps less pleased with the pomp and ritual that accompanied the formal dinner than with the camaraderie of the sparring field, he had comported himself well, bearing the ribbing of peers and the reminiscing of elders with good humor.

As Legolas bounded down the curving stairs into the courtyard, Haldir added another note to his mental list of the prince’s finer qualities. The prince was more than passing fair. Though he had not yet attained the solid bulk of a seasoned warrior, Legolas was smoothly muscled, with the strong arms and shoulders of a born archer. His sharply angled cheekbones and sunlit hair marked him as Thranduil’s son to even the least observant, and his eyes sparkled with the impish streak gifted him by his mother.

The day looked promising, indeed.

Legolas caught sight of his mentor-to-be almost immediately, the pale shimmer of Haldir’s hair as good as a beacon amid the reds and golds of the wood-elves’ tresses. As the marchwarden stood to greet him, he saw that the elegant drape of last night’s formal grey tunic and breeches had been replaced by snug black leather leggings and a thin green tunic with simple toggles. _‘Easily removed’_, Legolas thought artlessly, then flushed brightly at his own musings.

“Good morning, my lord,” Haldir said, smiling in appreciation at Legolas' well-worn leather leggings and rough woven ivory tunic. There seemed to be little of the imperious royal in Legolas, but Haldir had worried that anxiety might cause the youngling to retreat into a regal shell. He could well have taken refuge in formality, but the casual nature of his attire put that concern to rest.

“Good morning,” Legolas returned, his cheeks burning hotter under Haldir’s approving gaze.

“I should add my congratulations on your majority, as well,” Haldir offered, reaching for the basket. “Though you likely wish it all over and done with? I know I did, at the time.”

“Aye,” Legolas replied with a sigh as they headed for the gates. “Though the parties have been grand,” he added with youthful honesty, “I could well do without the interest in my expected bedding.” Suddenly abashed, the prince trailed off uncertainly. “Forgive me, Haldir. I did not mean to...”

“Think nothing of it, young one,” the marchwarden interrupted kindly. “It cannot be easy to have an entire realm watching with bated breath.”

“It is not,” Legolas agreed. As Haldir started down the path leading to the old tower clearing, the prince looked at him in surprise. “You are quite familiar with the Wood?”

“Parts of it, aye,” Haldir answered. “My family has roots in Mirkwood, many millennia past, before the darkening began. Though the Greenwood was never my home, I remember when a watchtower stood in the clearing.”

Legolas' eyes widened. “You knew Grandfather, then?”

“Aye, though not as well as I know your father. Oropher was a fine king and a fierce warrior, but he had strict notions of propriety. He did not mix easily with commoners.”

Legolas snorted inelegantly. “So he was much like Anteruon.”

Haldir chuckled. “He was, indeed. Or rather, the crown prince is much like Oropher. But I have no doubt that Thranduil will curb him, given time. Your brother is yet young.”

They walked the winding trail in silence for a moment before Legolas found courage to voice the question that plagued him most. “How well _do_ you know Ada, Haldir?” he asked, his cheeks burning anew at his own audacity.

Haldir stopped at the edge of the clearing, turning to meet his companion’s eyes. “Not _that_ well,” he said with a grin, “but we have been friends for millennia.”

Relieved, Legolas followed Haldir into the sunny clearing.

******************

Legolas stretched with feline enjoyment, savoring both the heat of the midday sun on his skin and the faint buzz of the sweet berry wine in his veins. “I have always loved this place,” he said lazily, falling back to lie on the soft grass that grew in the clearing. “There is too little light in the Wood these days.”

Haldir smiled, reaching to refill Legolas' glass. “The sun is pleasant,” he agreed, pouring the last of the pale pink wine into his own goblet before stretching out beside his companion. There was a comfortable silence during which the marchwarden observed Legolas through lowered lashes. They had talked much over the past hours, touching on a myriad of subjects, and the prince seemed far more at ease, much of his earlier reticence gone.

Indeed, it was the Legolas who had stripped off his tunic first, exposing his sleekly muscled chest to the sun’s warmth with no hesitation. While Haldir doubted the move was calculated – warriors did, after all, spend a good deal of time with their chests bared in training – he had been heartened by the implied acceptance, and quickly followed suit.

Now his eyes trailed over the lithe form more intently, acknowledging both the prince’s beauty and the first faint stirrings of desire in his own belly. His gaze lingered on the gold ring that glinted in Legolas’ right nipple. The youngling was not untried in battle – an orc, the prince had said briefly, as though the memory haunted him still. The first of several.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Haldir tossed back the last of his wine and sat the glass down before closing his fingers around his companion’s empty goblet. When Legolas started, roused from near reverie by the gentle tug at his hand, Haldir chuckled. “You had best put this away, before you drop it. Are you tired?”

“Nay,” Legolas replied, setting his glass aside obediently. “Merely very comfortable.”

Haldir met the blue-green gaze searchingly. “Good,” he whispered, leaning closer to brush his lips along the prince’s jaw.

Legolas went still, his world narrowing to the soft flutter that moved ever closer to his ear. A part of him had wondered, had wanted it to happen here, in this place, with the sun and trees to bear witness, rather than in a candlelit bedchamber behind locked doors. Then a wet tongue curled around the tip of his ear, sending a bolt of fire to his groin, and his anxiety rushed back tenfold. He pulled away with a whimper, turning wide eyes on his companion.

“Shhh,” Haldir soothed, stroking one flushed cheek gently before capturing Legolas' mouth in an insistent kiss, his fingers twining firmly in golden braids.

His mind spinning, Legolas felt adrift and helpless amid the sensations flooding his body. He had kissed and been kissed before, but those fumbling experiences faded away beside this skilled plundering. Haldir’s tongue swept his lips, demanding entrance, then explored his mouth languidly, wrestling wetly with his own tongue, enticing it out to play. Sharp teeth nipped and tugged gently at his lips until they tingled, then the teeth were gone and his swollen lips were suckled tenderly before the besetting mouth retreated, leaving him gasping.

Haldir met the prince’s confused gaze, smiling slightly at the chaotic mix of anxiety and longing visible there. Lowering his head to nuzzle Legolas' throat, he murmured nonsensically, as though he sought to soothe a frightened animal.

Legolas found himself inexplicably calmed by the soft rumble of Haldir’s voice and turned his head instinctively, granting the marchwarden free access to his neck. The gentle brush of lips and tongue gave way to more aggressive suckling, then a sharp nip, before the wandering mouth drew him into another heated kiss.

Ending the kiss reluctantly, Haldir looked down into eyes gone emerald dark. “I want you, princeling,” he purred, pressing his burgeoning erection against Legolas' hip.

A shiver ran down Legolas’ spine at the obvious hunger in Haldir’s face. He had imagined it differently, somehow, this first yielding. What little information his brother would share had hinted at cool explanations and carefully impersonal touches. But the dilated hazel eyes that now raked his body were neither cool nor impersonal.

It was not the considering stare of a teacher, but the devouring gaze of a lover.

As though aware of Legolas' thoughts, Haldir shook his head slightly, one thumb tracing the sharp angle of the prince’s cheekbone. “I will not harm you, young one,” he said, brushing his mouth over the kiss-swollen lips, “but I will not pretend ‘tis only duty which moves me. To do so would deny us both pleasure.”

Legolas raised a hand to Haldir’s face, touching one cheek before hesitantly threading his fingers into the mithril-pale hair. “Show me, then,” he whispered. “I will trust you.”

Haldir inhaled sharply, the prince’s words erasing the last vestiges of restraint. Shifting to lie atop the younger elf, he caught Legolas’ mouth in a lingering kiss before beginning a thorough exploration of the lithe body.

Legolas fought back a wave of panic as his leggings were peeled slowly away, baring him to the predatory gaze, and then his body was awash in sensations far more arresting. The soft leather of Haldir’s leggings was smooth against his skin, a contrast to the bow-callused fingers that mapped his muscles and the rough tongue that followed. A hot mouth moved across his shoulder, sharp teeth testing the muscles gently, before slipping lower to lap and nip at his pebbled nipples. A gentle tug on the piercing ring drew a harsh groan from his chest, a sound unlike any he had ever made before, and he plunged both hands into Haldir’s silken mane, trying to draw the source of pleasure closer.

Haldir chuckled quietly, sliding up to press a light kiss to Legolas’ lips before pulling away to quickly remove his own leggings and place the oil vial within reach. Urging Legolas' legs apart he settled between the prince's spread thighs, a hiss escaping his lips as their arousals slipped and slid together.

His eyes fluttering, Legolas arched up against Haldir, trembling with the sharp jolts of pleasure that coursed through his body. He moaned in disappointment when the hard warmth shifted, then whimpered wordlessly as the hot mouth returned, sliding lower, a wicked tongue jabbing playfully at his navel before the swirling wetness descended to the tender skin at the base of his swollen shaft.

A howl that was surely heard in the Halls shattered the stillness as Haldir engulfed the hard column in one deft movement, his tongue tracing the throbbing vein as he swallowed repeatedly. Pulling away, lest he push his inexperienced lover too far, Haldir moved lower still, licking the tight sac fleetingly before turning his attention to the untried entrance, circling the tight muscle with his tongue.

Legolas panted, tears of frustration welling in his eyes as the delicious warmth left his straining arousal. Then he felt the brush of lips and tongue below and shuddered violently, his body tensing. After a moment he relaxed under the gentle swipes of Haldir’s tongue, fear giving way once more to burning need as the slick muscle pushed past the guarded entrance slightly, stretching and wetting the tight ring.

Haldir pulled away and quickly slicked his hand with oil, then moved to once more tease Legolas' weeping erection with his mouth as he carefully prepared Legolas for this first breeching.

The unexpected burn was not quite wiped away by the warmth of the skillful mouth, and Legolas shifted restlessly. Then there was an aggressive twist and colors bloomed before his eyes as pleasure the likes of which he had never known flooded his senses, ripping a guttural groan from his chest and a litany of pleading murmurs from his lips.

Haldir slid up the arching body, his own breathing ragged and shallow with suppressed need. Pressing Legolas' knees up and back, he settled into the cradle of the young elf’s hips, his throbbing shaft brushing eagerly at the sweat-slick crease. “Wrap your legs around me, princeling,” Haldir rasped hoarsely. Nipping sharply at one flushed ear, he whispered, “You are far too inviting for your own good, I fear.”

Legolas obeyed, a flicker of fear cutting through the haze of lust that surrounded him. Then his vision was blocked by a curtain of silver and gold and Haldir’s mouth was on his, surprisingly gentle, as a hardness that seemed impossibly large nudged at his prepared entrance briefly before pushing through with one determined thrust.

The searing burn brought tears to Legolas’ eyes and he whimpered into the kiss, his body tensing against the pain. Haldir’s lips brushed his eyelids, one had closing around the prince’s flagging erection. “I am sorry, young one,” Haldir murmured, stroking the slick flesh back to full hardness. “But the worst is over. Look at me, Legolas.”

Opening his eyes, the prince met Haldir’s darkened gaze, heartened to find not scorn or impatience, but concern flickering amid the swirling green, brown and gold.

Haldir struggled to remain motionless, waiting for the spasms of entry to ease. “Relax,” he crooned, dropping a spattering of kisses on the furrowed brow. “Breathe slowly and relax.” The near painful squeezing loosened as Legolas calmed, and Haldir started moving in slow, shallow thrusts, increasing the pace and force as the prince began to press up into the rhythmic movements.

Legolas nearly sobbed with relief at the first wave of pleasure, tightening his legs around his lover’s waist. As his muscles accepted the intrusion fully he bucked up to meet each downward stroke of Haldir’s hips, his inexperienced body trembling with a rapidly building climax.

Haldir tightened his grip on his lover’s arousal, stroking in counterpoint to the now erratic lunges of their hips, then Legolas stiffened suddenly, spilling over the pumping fist with a keening wail. Feeling the already snug channel tighten warningly, Haldir slammed forward, burying himself fully as strong muscles began to contract violently. A moment later he was muffling a groan against Legolas’ neck, his own release flooding the limp body beneath him.

Afraid of crushing Legolas, Haldir withdrew carefully and rolled to one side, pulling the prince into a warm embrace. Long minutes passed silently, broken only by the waning rasp of their breathing and the soft brush of Haldir’s hand over tousled golden hair.

At last Haldir roused himself, tipping Legolas' chin to study his face. “Are you well?” he asked, searching the wide blue-green eyes intently.

“Aye,” Legolas replied, feeling a bit awkward in the aftermath of this new experience. “I am.”

Forcing back a grin at the sudden attack of shyness, Haldir pressed a soft kiss to one flushed cheek and sat up, retrieving both pairs of leggings. Standing to slip into his own, he offered Legolas a hand, grimacing sympathetically as the prince rose slowly and carefully pulled on his leggings, wincing as he raised each leg in turn. “A good soak will do much to ease the pain,” he said soothingly, “and I daresay we can take your mind off the discomfort, at any rate.”

Legolas arched one golden eyebrow suspiciously. “We can?”

“We can,” Haldir affirmed with a grin, reaching over to pinch Legolas' unpierced nipple teasingly. “I believe, princeling, that you and I have an appointment with a gold ring.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Ada - Papa

 


	3. Epilogue

Legolas looked toward the door with some surprise, not quite trusting his ears. Then he heard it again, soft but unmistakable...someone was knocking quietly, the sound barely audible over the splash of running water from the bath chamber. Quickly slipping into his clean leggings, he moved toward the door, still toweling his wet hair. “Aye? Who is there?” Legolas asked, one hand on the latch. Normally he would have thrown open the door without thought, but...

Thranduil heard the hesitation in his son’s voice. “’Tis Ada,” he said, feeling strangely diffident. “Are you..._busy_, son?”

“Nay, not at all,” Legolas replied, slinging the towel around his neck and smoothing his hair before sliding back the bolt. “Come in, Ada.” As the door swung open, Legolas’ eyes lit on the dark blue bottle his father cradled carefully. “Miruvor!” he exclaimed, breaking into a broad grin. “For me?”

“For _us_,” Thranduil corrected, his eyes twinkling. “If you are inclined to share your good fortune. Elrond brought a case as a majority day offering.”

“I suppose I can share _one_ bottle, if I have been gifted with twelve,” Legolas conceded cheerfully, tossing away his towel before reaching for the heavy decanter. “Come, sit down and I will pour.”

Thranduil stood motionless, his hands still grasping the smooth blue glass, his attention riveted on fading bruises and the golden glint of _two_ piercing rings.

“Ada? Are you...” Legolas began questioningly, then followed the king’s stare to his own newly-adorned chest.

“Where is Haldir?” Thranduil blurted out without ceremony, raising his eyes to his son’s face with surprising effort. The blue-green gaze met his steadily, only the slightest blush coloring the prince’s cheeks. _‘Innocence lost, indeed,’_ Thranduil thought, surprised at the ache that settled in his chest.

“He is bathing,” Legolas replied with a nod toward the inner chamber door, which stood slightly ajar.

Taking the miruvor bottle from his father’s unresisting hands, Legolas carried it to the table and pried out the stopper before realizing that Thranduil had remained near the door. “_Ada_,” he prodded, one golden eyebrow arching in surprise. “Come, sit down.”

The king settled himself at the table a bit warily, his gaze going repeatedly to the bathing chamber door. “Are you sure I am not interrupting?” he queried, sipping at the fiery cordial.

“I am sure,” Legolas insisted, laying a hand on his father’s arm. “I wanted to see you, also, Ada, before the formal festivities begin.”

“Are you well, young one?” Thranduil asked, looking the prince over searchingly. “I do not want to pry, yet...”

“Aye, I am fine,” Legolas assured him soberly, before breaking into a devilish grin. “But I have seldom been more grateful for a well-padded chair.”

Thranduil stared dumbstruck at his formerly reticent son for a long moment, then burst into laughter. “The experience has done you no harm, it would seem, “ he chuckled, squeezing the prince’s shoulder tightly.

The faint creak of the bathing chamber door signaled Haldir’s presence, and both father and son turned toward the sound. The marchwarden stood in the open door, a low-slung towel his only covering. “Legolas? Will you toss me my leggings?” Catching the garment, he flashed a smile at Thranduil and added, “It is poor etiquette to appear before a king in naught but a towel.”

_‘Especially when you have just bedded his son,’_ Thranduil thought acidly, suppressing with difficulty an overwhelming – and admittedly unreasonable – urge to break Haldir’s jaw.

“I should be going,” Thranduil said, rising to his feet as the marchwarden entered the room. “I assume Haldir will accompany you to the pavilion?”

Legolas slipped an arm around Haldir, frowning at the somewhat haughty tone of the question. He opened his mouth to speak, but his retort was silenced by a comforting squeeze from his companion.

“Only if it pleases you, my lord,” Haldir answered in Legolas’ stead, dipping his head respectfully before meeting the king’s eyes.

Thranduil held the understanding gaze for a moment, then smiled apologetically, ashamed of his own ire and soothed by the obvious affection between his son and Haldir. “There is no need for formality, my friend,” he answered sincerely, clasping Haldir’s arm. “If you can forgive a father’s folly, it would please me greatly.”

As Thranduil left the chamber, Legolas turned to Haldir uncertainly. “I hope this will not cause a rift between you. I feared for your friendship, for a moment.”

Haldir pushed back a strand of golden hair, pressing a reassuring kiss to Legolas' forehead. “And for a moment, I feared for my neck,” he replied, eyes dancing. “It will be well. He worries for you, that is all. We will do him proud at the feast.”

“And afterward?”

“_Afterward_?” Haldir teased, grinning at the rising color in Legolas' cheeks. “Is that an offer, princeling?”

“_That_, marchwarden, is a demand,” Legolas said, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. “I believe we have unfinished business.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Ada – Papa

 


End file.
